gp?^- - I Tragic Failure i T*ew York is America’s gayest city— and saddest. Back of the tinseled glit ters is ever the muffled note of despair Ve who nre caught and held ir. iti {glamorous web nre always conscioui jof the futility of lives around us. It it ta promised land strewn with blastec popes. For one success we see a thou sand miserable failures. And nowhera Ns failure quite so tragic.—O. O. Mc ilntyre, in Ilearst's Interaatlonal-Coa fcnopolltan. There / is no I better Heel Made, I to*i&%PP I ^rffc"A«*.rt«Aow Or* —I rsnr*s? ?«c ",,"t * *»«./ . T'U,,W IIS,.(/T~ ~—— Say “Bayer Aspirin” INSIST! Unless you see the ♦‘Bayer Cross” on tablets you are not getting the genuine Bayer Aspirin proved safe by millions and prescribed by phy sicians for 24 years. O AccePt on]y » ^7^7^ Bayer package which contains proven directions Handy “Bayer” boxes of 12 tablets Also bottles of 24 and 100—Druggist* Aspirin Is the trsde murk of Barer Mann Caetaw of Monoacetlcacldcater of BaUc;Ucadd FOR OVER 200 YEARS haarlem oil has been a world wide remedy for kidney, liver and bladder disorders, rheumatism, lumbago and uric acid conditions. correct internal troubles, stimulate vital organs. Three sixes. All druggists. Insist CO the original genuine Gold Medal. District Managers $125.00 a Week 'Write us for full particulars, stating your knowledge in farming and hog cmlsing. FARMSTEAD MINERAL MFC. CO. 125th St., Menno, S. Dak. IGearThePores | Of Impurities With j jCuticura Soap ^^ObtBoobTtlcimiHUtwrAin. BREEME HOUSE I By Katherine Newlin Burt | Then it a all-right,. All right. You’ll see to it, eh!” “To mhat, dear Lerrd Bream!” “Have you-talked to my wife my wife, eh, Claire! Or to Jane! Dear,-poor, dear little Jane! She used to-make such an-anxious eyes at our big-arguments. Weill Will we ever-settle ’em now, Claire* The North Pole, eh!- and those others! But-you will settle the-the biggest one, won’t you!” His eeyes searched her face in wistful confidence. “Don’t you. guess what he tn°ans, Claire!” whispeered Lady Bream. Claire shook her red-gold head, but her ey s shrunk a little as she bent them upon the invalid. irYf cmfwyp ta eta ea eta et et “My Alec was in here,” went on the Earl, laboriously. “I’m something of a fool about, Alec, eh! He may have lost his Van Dyke—though I think w°’ll have it back. But he’s won a wife, hasn't he! You’ll see to that— you will, Claire!” Claire slipped to her knees by the bed and r«sted her soft, smoot,h cheek against his hand. “You want a wife for Alec!” she asked softlv. “Ah! Wonderful woman! Shq’s guessed it! I’ll tell you— tell you—” lie stopped, strug gling against the clogging weight of his weakness. .“I’ll tell you what I want you to do for Alec, eh? That will amuse us both. Now you’re to find a wife for Alec. She must be beautiful and good and fine. Fine, I say—-mind, body and soul •—brave—that’s the mainUhing. And I I’m afraid she’ll Have to be rich, for we’re as poor .ns church mice ourselves.” Ilis face cloud ed for an instant, then cleared. “Yes—she will have to have her portion. But she must—I insist upon it—have two lovely eyes as much like sea-water as eyes can be—and a wonderful lot of bright golden—” He lifted his hand, slice helping him, and let it fall upon her soft, gleaming hair, which rippled about his fingers like fire—“and a wise bead and a heart full of love. Will you find all that for me— for Alec, will you? Promise me, Claire, eh?” Tears wore running down Claire’s hidden face. She looked up to smile through them. “A good, brave, wise, wealthy, beautiful girl. That might be difficult. But”— the rose glowed under her white skin— “I’ll do my best. I’ll find her-r I*11 find her for Alec. There! The nurse says I must go. May —your—little Yankee girl kiss you, Lord Breeme?” “May she? Well, rather!” lie was as eager about it as a boy. “Don’t you forget, now,” he admonished her in a weak whis per, shaking that long index fin ger—which bad threatened her through so many hot debates— rcmimlmgly. “Vou’ve given me a promise, oh?” Claire was white; even her clear-cut lips had lost thir color. Her eyes had deepened, because of withheld tears. She looked helplessly away from *him and back ugaiu. Then: “I’ll do my best,” she said quiveringly, “dear Lord Breeme; my best.’’ And not to be a traitor to .their joyous comradship, she smiled, and let him see her smile until she turned away. CHAPTER XVIII RUFUS TREM(jNT’S HOUR Ouo morning, a week after Lord Breeme’s stroke, from which, with his remarkable buoy ancy, ho was steadily recovering, a gentleman of stout figure and a suit of small checks, strolled in a leisurely, masterful fashion up and down a little reception-room at Breeme House. He was not an attractive visitor. There was bluish-white puffs of flesch un der his eyes, and the dewlaps on his jaws joggled a little as he walked. He had, however, an air of tremendous assurance. He seetncd almost a proprietor. His | eye, glancing at this pieRe of fur niture and that, was a caressing eye. He had sent in his card to Lord Tremont and he had been waiting already half an hour. This did not seem to surprise or to annoy him. Perhaps he was used to waiting. He had not, as yet, •(> much as glanced at his watch. The whole day was be fore him. 1 wo or three rooms away, meanwhile, lord Tremont sat for ward in a chair, wdtli his head clutched in his hands. Mr. Unter berg’s card was crushed by his fingers. His face was pale and hunted and piteous. He did not dare the man away, and he did not dareto go in and talk to him. Ilis bad hour of reckoning was squarely upon him, and had found him unprtpared. He was curshing himself a little, the gen tleman a great deal, and Fatee most of all; Fate having always to put up with the heaviest bur den of censure under such cir cumstances as these. jiivery now ana tnan Aieec moved a little, like a man in phy sical discomfort, and looked up. Opposite to him was au open window, and, framed by it, Cla ire, on thp lawn, played at ball with Humphery. Prehaps she felt the haggard look upon her, for from time to time she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. She was dressed in white, and her hair shone gold against the turfy green. ■‘I am a fool,” thought Alec. “A fool! A foil!” Only that morning he had seen his father and had promised to ask Claire to be his wife. He meant to be honest with her. - practical. He would ask no wo man to marry him on false pre tences. If she wanted his title his house in exchange for what eh wanted - wealth and the hap piness of his father - they were hers for the takng. She was a clear - eyed, straight - minded creature, who cared, it seemed, rather for things than human be ings; she had not been studing them all during these past weeks for nothing. She knew. He had meant to explain himself to her this very morning. And now - this Unterberg was waiting to prompt him, as it were. Why had he dallied so long wth the hide ous situation? He had lost, his picture, for which Rufus Tre mont would have paid a fortune, and now, perhaps, he had lost his chance with Claire. In that case lie had lost his chance of sparing Lord Breeme any knowledge of his debts, for, with Unterberg at Breeme House— Alec jumped up and took to striding to and fro; hands knot ted in his pockets, under-lip bit ten in and thrust out, brows frowning, lines of grief and weariness under his eyes. And all the while Mr. Utenberg, very much at his ease, was waiting. There was a very ugly temp tation upon Alec. A hint to Uterberg of his engagement to an American heiress would prob ably slip the noose off his neck for a time; it would certainly ease its pressure. Why not? The thing was all but settled. No girl takes possession by act and look and word of man’s property as Claire had done, without the full intention of making herself understood. When he bad spoken to her on the ride to Lone Tree Hill, her look, through emigmatieal, had been far from discouraging. Her face had lit tip—that de serbed it—lit up from within. If lie went out now and spoke to her: Alec stopped in his w'alk before the window, and Claire, looking up, sent him an uncertain smile. After hesitat ing a moment she came slowely towards him, to stand below the window, Humphrey's ball in her hands. 1 ell me, please, how does your father seem today!” “Making slow progress, the doctor says.” Alee’s heart was pounding. She had come over to him of her own aeoord. He glanced over his sholder, as though expecting to see Utcrberg’s ugly person behind him, aud moistened his lips. “Miss Wilton,” said he awk wardly, “I shoxdd like to speak to you. May, I come out?” She thought this over, look ing down at her ball with the air of a crystal gazer. “I'll come in.” She tossed the plaything to Humphrey and went round the ivy-covered corner of the house. A moment later she was with him, closing the door, and tak ing her place by his desk with an air of self-possession that somehow failed to put him at his ease. Mercifully, Alee felt, shs did not look at him, but down at her folded hands. He was cer tain that she knew what was coming. “My father’s illness,” Alec began, standng near the mantel, !hat flush coming out like a brand under his pale, narrowed eyes, “and, before it, my own accident, have put off something that I wanted to discuss with you.” Claire sat as meekly under this studied opening, not at all in Alec’s natural manner, as an old-tftne heroine, her head a lit tle bent. Alec s pulses began to race. He was in terror of her. But Unterberg was waitng. He had never been more ill at ease. He hated himself and every word he spoke. He would have liked to hate her. But she looked that morning very grace and pure and good. After the beginning he plunged desperately in. “We’re both sensible people, I fancy—pretty well grown up and modern, eh? I’ve felt all the time that you were by way of understanding me amazingly. In fact, I think you’ve under stood us all. You are wonder ful, you know." Here one of those fine hands of hers was lifted to sereen her face from him, just propping her head. He could see ohin tip and nose-tip as inexpressive as cool, chiselled marble. “I was—I wish that we had n’t been interrupted when I was speaking to you on the way to Lone Tree. I could have put it all over before you much better. I’ve been so unhappy and so bothered lately that it’s knock ed the spontaneity out of me. But—this morning I had a talk wth my father." Alec turned away and back. Ilis lips were pale. He kept his profile to her and fingered an ornament on the mantel with his long, nervious fingers. “I would do anything in the world to make him happy," said Alec, his voice suddenly as broken and eearnest as a peni tent boy’s—“anything in the world to help him back to life." She gave him a quick, low answer from behind the shelter ing hand. “So would I—almost any thing J” He came impulsively to her side. “We are one, then, in that. We both love him, and he loves us both. Claire, you do know, don t you, what he wants most —what he lies there hoping for?" She did not speak. “Jane ise devoted to you," he went on, trying to return to the self-possession he desired. “You see, it would be the nat ural thing in the world. You are quite one of us. You seem to like us all—to like Breeine House. You fit in. And what I can give you—" “What can you give me?" she asked curiously. Uli, a man hates to trot out inducements. Only these things have to be got at practically and frankly nowadays. It’s per fectly obvious, at any rate. I admire you as much as women I’ve ever known. You’re splen did in every way. And you have what lias got to be con sidered by many of us land holders when it comes to marry ing. Is this a hateful way to put it? You seem a clear-sighted, modern woman. You’ve given me to \inderstand—” “What,” she asked him very gently, “have I given you to understand?” “I don’t fancy for a moment, you know, that you’re in love with me. But we’ve got more most people have to begin on - a mutual friendship and respect.” “Even at that, Lord Tremont, you take a very, very great deal for granted,” she told him; “an amazing deal.” He stiffened. “I’m paying you the compli ment of prefect frankness,” said he. “I take it for granted that you Ye a woman of the world.” Then, to his horror, Claire began to laugh. She bent her face to both hands. It was not happy laughter - not the old light, musi cal clashing or cymals,, but it was the laugher of humuor, pure and human, a touch of rdicule, a grain of bitterness, of mockery, a triumphant, kindly understand ing, tears in' it somewhere; but over ad above all it was laugther, real laughter from the heart: the kind of mirth unkown to ani mals, unknown to children, un known to ignorant, early youth, a tearsure wrung frqrn^ experi ence and pain and